A Dirty Lion

by Faye Byrd

  “Maybe,” I say, avoiding his eyes by looking out the windshield. “But this Randi has been blowing you off for the past three weeks.”

  “You gonna tell me why?” he asks, his voice soft and buttery.

  I turn to him then, our eyes connecting. “You really don’t have a clue?”

  He reaches for his door handle and pushes it open. “Let’s talk about it inside.” He’s out of the car before I can say anything more.

  I don’t know what to make of his reaction, and maybe I’m just a stupid girl to let him get under my skin the way he has. He never promised more than cash for sex, and I never expected it, but something changed inside me during our last encounter. I can’t pretend our original arrangement will be enough for me anymore.

  Grabbing my backpack and the small case I brought along, I get out of the car and trudge into the clubhouse, keeping my head down. Enzo’s right. I’m not the Randi he’s come to know. I’m a hesitant, unsure, second-guessing mess, and it pisses me the fuck off.

  I find Wyndall propped against the pool table, sharpening the points of his mustache with his fingers. “Can you show me to a room?”

  “You have a fucking room,” Enzo snaps from behind me, causing me to jump. “Mine.”

  I turn to him, both brows raised. “I agreed to stay here. I didn’t agree to sleep in your bed.”

  “If that’s how you want it,” he practically growls, turning on his heel. “Follow me.”

  I follow, and when he slings open a door and stands back for me to enter, I pause in the doorway. “Enzo,” I say softly, looking up at him. “I’m not saying I don’t want to sleep with you. I’m just saying that I need my own space, too.”

  He cups my cheek and brushes his thumb across my lip. “Get settled in, and I’ll be waiting for you in my room.” He leans down and replaces his thumb with his mouth, kissing me softly. “To talk,” he murmurs before turning and walking away.

  Tears spring to my eyes, but I blink them away as I internally curse myself for going soft. Who the fuck am I? And what have I become? Getting teary over a guy? I don’t recognize this girl at all, and yet, I feel all emotional and shit. Ugh. I bury my face in my hands and scrub roughly, pushing it all out of my mind as I go unpack my meager belongings.

  After dragging it out as long as I can, I sigh as I shut the door behind me. Enzo’s room is just down the hall, and I pause outside, unsure whether to knock or just barge right in. His Randi would definitely barge in, and I’m not sure where that girl went, but she isn’t here right now, so I lift my hand and rap three times. It’s so quiet I begin to think he isn’t inside, but the door swings open, and there he is in all his muscular, tanned glory.

  Shit. I’m so fucked.

  His perfect brows are puckered. “Why did you knock?”

  I cross my arms to hold myself back from jumping him. “I don’t know,” I say, irritated with myself. “Everything feels … off.”

  He reaches out and trails his sexy fingers down my arm until he gets to my hand. Tugging it, he pulls me inside and shuts the door behind me. Without a word, he leads me to the bed and climbs on, propping against the headboard. Spreading his legs, he pats the space between them.

  “I’m not sure that’s the best idea,” I say, looking anywhere but his sexy self poised against the leather. “We should probably talk before we touch.”

  “Miranda.” His voice is soft and silky, and I have no choice but to turn to him. “I’m not going to fucking attack you. I haven’t held you in weeks, and I’d really like to have you in my arms. I promise I won’t start anything, at least not until we finish our talk.”

  How’s a girl supposed to resist that? I crawl onto the bed and position myself between his thick, muscular thighs, resting my back against his chest. At first it feels strange, but when he closes his arms around my waist and props his chin on my shoulder, my whole world rights itself.

  This is where I want to be—for free.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Old Lady

  Enzo

  “Talk to me, babe,” I murmur, linking our fingers and resting our connected hands on my thighs. “What’s going on with us?”

  She hangs her head, goosebumps moving up her bare arms. “Us.” The way she says it terrifies me. “That’s what’s going on. We aren’t really an us. We’re two people with a mutually beneficial agreement.” She pauses, shaking her head. “And I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

  “Please don’t say that,” I rasp, hurt and confusion warring for space inside my scattered thoughts. “I’m not ready to give you up.”

  She lifts her head, meeting my eyes. “Then don’t.”

  My brows furrow, and I scan her face, trying to read the soft blush in her cheeks and the barely-there smile that curves her lips. She appears so tame and innocent in this moment, and it’s strange. She’s so unlike the girl I met a few months back, but she’s also every bit her at the same time.

  I push her hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering on her heated cheek. “How do I manage that?” I keep my voice low and even, careful not to piss her off. “You just said …”

  She places two fingers over my lips. “I said I can’t do a mutually beneficial agreement anymore. I didn’t say I don’t want to be with you.”

  My heart explodes into a fucking gallop, and the processor in my brain kicks into high gear. “Be with me,” I repeat like a goddamn idiot as the idea behind her words starts to settle in my mind. “Like my girlfriend?”

  “I don’t know,” she says, flustered. “I do know that I’m done taking your money. If we have sex again, it’s going to be strictly about want.”

  “If,” I repeat, sounding like a fucking idiot once again, except this time, my voice is all squeaky. I’m not gonna lie. This turns of events is both terrifying and thrilling at the same time. I enjoy the fuck out of Randi, even when she flies off the handle and especially when we’re in bed, so there’s really no bad side to what she’s suggesting—and if she needs something, moneywise, it’s hers any-fucking-way. “Fuck if. I like when much fucking better.” I smash my lips to hers and pull away. “Will you be my Old Lady, Miranda Dawson?”

  She looks as if I just hit her with a handful of shit, but she’s still cute as hell with her nose crinkled and her eyes wild. “Old Lady?” she repeats because now it’s her fucking turn. “Maybe we should start with dating. We’re dating. I like the sound of that.” She nods, pleased with herself.

  I toss my head back and bark a laugh before gripping her waist and spinning her to straddle my thighs. “You realize that’s what an Old Lady is, right?” I press my lips to her exposed collarbone, sucking gently. “My steady girlfriend would be referred to as my Old Lady.”

  She looks slightly less horrified as she brings her hands up and rests them on my shoulders. “Technically, I wouldn’t be your girlfriend. At least, not right away. I mean, don’t you want to go out and shit, make sure you really want to be with me?”

  I grip her hips and urge her closer, grinding her against my hardening cock. “I already know I’m not ready to lose you, so no. I don’t need to go out or any other shit to know I want to be with you—for now, at least.”

  Her hands go from my shoulders to my head, and she scratches against my scalp before fisting my hair. “Aren’t you sweet?” She sounds menacing. “What a way to make a girl feel special.”

  “Oh, I know how to make a girl feel special,” I reply, thrusting against her. “I’ll never let you down in that department, but I’m not so experienced in others. You’ll have to cut me some slack if I fuck up.”

  “How about I just cut you?” Her voice is low and throaty, and the violent threat does things to me. She giggles, and it turns into a sigh as I lean in and place my lips on her neck. “Or not.”

  I peel her tank from her skin, and for fucking once, she’s wearing a bra, so that has to go too. The sight of her poised over me, breathless and ready, is more than I ever expected to have again, judging by the way this talk s
tarted. But not only can I have it now, it’s fucking free because she’s mine.

  And that feels good.

  Clothes melt away like snow in the springtime, and I explore every part of her naked form. She sheathes me in latex before lifting and sinking down on my cock. Jesus. I almost explode, the emotion coursing through me new and dangerous—possessive. I feel like I need to take it all in case I never get it again, which is fucking crazy.

  Entwining our fingers, I offer her leverage while also maintaining control. I thrust to meet her and take one pert nipple into my mouth before swapping to the other. Her eyes fall closed, and her head falls back as she rides my cock. She’s fucking gorgeous in her perfection, and it’s my desire to drive her to completion.

  Releasing her hands, I settle them on my shoulders, and she digs in, clinging to me. One of mine grips her hip, bracing her, and the other goes all the way down to spread her slit and find her swollen clit. She moans at the contact, and I double my efforts, sending her into a gallop.

  She tenses, and I buck my hips harder. With a pinch to her clit, she goes flying, soaring into the orgasmic plane. Her mouth drops open and her eyes are on me so intensely that I almost explode before seeing her to the end. Just as the rush shoots through me, she collapses against me, and I release with a groan.

  “Fucking hell,” I murmur, brushing my fingers through her sweat-soaked hair. “That was amazing, babe.” I kiss the side of her head. “It’s even better now that you’re mine.”

  She chuckles as she lifts her head. “I was always yours,” she says, not looking at me. “It just took my brain a little time to catch on to what my body already knew.”

  “Fucking right,” I growl, scratching my scruff against her neck as I trail my lips to her ear. “I’m gonna try like hell to be good at this, but if I fuck up, feel free to knock me down a peg or two.”

  She fists my hair, holding me tightly to her. “You know I will.”

  Everything feels different now, more reverent. Every touch is felt deeper in my soul and every look has more meaning, so it’s no surprise that my cock springs right back to life just from holding her naked body close. I rid myself of condom number one and put on number two. Randi and I spend the rest of the night in my room, trying to satiate the insatiable. It isn’t enough, but we have time.

  The next day, we sit down with the rest of the MC and devise a temporary schedule. With the arrival of the nomads, Tank Gregory and Justice Rivers, the Lions are less spread thin, and the clubhouse can be better guarded. Randi still attends classes, but one of us is always parked in the lot the entire time she’s there, and she sleeps here every night.

  Surprisingly, Sheriff Dawson checks himself into an out-patient program at the local hospital after the attempted hit. He begs Randi to come home after a few weeks sober, but I don’t fucking allow it. Well, she allows me to not allow it, but semantics. He seems to be doing okay, and him showing up as sheriff has made a difference as far as the Wolves go, but it’ll probably never be enough to make up for the shit he’s done when it comes to my girl—or the shit he hasn’t done is more like it.

  “There’s the shipment,” Tank says, watching the camera as a box truck pulls to a stop by the keypad. Mikey installed an electronic system for the gate, so we’ve been able to free up Jameson and not worry about a surprise visit from someone who’s capable of getting the drop on him. “Carl promised to make sure we have the best shit.”

  I smirk, puffing the joint and passing it to Wyndall. “We probably don’t even need it to take on these fucks, but it’s nice to know he cares.”

  Justice snorts. “He’s just happy he doesn’t have to show up in this nowhere town and take down a nowhere MC himself.”

  “Everything checks out, Enzo,” Mikey says, clicking at his computer. “Want me to let ‘em in?”

  “How many people are in the truck?” I counter, lifting a brow.

  “There are two heat signatures,” he replies, serious as a heart attack. “Both of them in the front seats and a scan of the back shows a crate full of metal.” He clicks a few more keys and swings the screen around. “Here’s a shot of their faces.”

  I love this motherfucker. “Holy shit, that’s Bob and Marianne. Open the fucking gates.”

  I jump up and run outside to meet them, eager as a kid on Christmas morning, but I can’t help myself. Bob and Marianne are family to me. They gave a fuck when no one else did. If Bob hadn’t plucked me from the streets when I was a fifteen-year-old runaway, there’s no telling what prison I’d be rotting in now. They took me in and treated me like their kid, introducing me to the MC lifestyle and showing me my place in the world.

  Marianne is out of the van and in my arms faster than I thought was possible for a woman in her late fifties. “Enzo,” she says, relief filling her voice. “I’ve been worried.”

  I squeeze her just a little tighter before releasing her so I can get a good look. “You know better than that,” I reply, trying to wipe that frown off her face. “There isn’t a motherfucker around these parts capable of taking me out.”

  “It wasn’t just one from what I heard.” She gives me a glare before it softens ever so slightly. “But I also hear there’s a girl?”

  I roll my eyes. This is the shit she chooses to focus on, but I guess I can see why. “There is,” I say, smirking. “But she’s in class right now, so you’re gonna have to wait until she gets in to meet her.”

  “Alone?” She lifts a chastising brow.

  “Hell no.” I chuckle at her treating me like a slacker. “I got a man sitting in the parking lot. He tailed her to school, and he’ll tail her home.”

  “That’s my boy.” She brushes my cheek. “I can’t wait to meet her.”

  My heart races just a little, but I breathe through it and seek out Bob. I find him at the back of the truck, showing off the weapon’s cache he brought with him. There are grenades and smoke bombs and C4, along with several automatic guns and ammunition out the asshole. There are enough weapons here to take on every MC in a three-hundred-mile radius.

  “Fuck yes,” I say, snatching up a modified AK-47. “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to get any of these.”

  Bob claps me on the shoulder. “Good to see you, Enzo, but you should know that nothing’s impossible for me.”

  I bob my head. “Jameson is gonna shit a brick.”

  “That the gun nut you mentioned?”

  “Yep,” I say, checking the time on my phone. “He’ll be back within the hour.”

  “I look forward to it,” Bob replies.

  “I know you and Marianne are gonna grace us with your presence for a few days,” I say, cocking a brow. “I’ll be offended if you try to leave right away.”

  He throws his old bald head back and laughs loudly. “You don’t think I’m gonna leave without meeting this broad that has you all tied up, do ya?”

  “I guess not.” I smirk, tilting my head before shifting focus to Justice and Tank. “Grab that crate and bring it inside.” I wave for Bob and Marianne to follow. “Come check out the clubhouse.”

  “This place is nicer than I expected,” Bob muses as we enter the main room.

  “Right?” I snort, stopping to let them take it in. There’s a kitchenette on one wall and a seating area in the center with a pool table and pinball game even farther back. “We haven’t done a fucking thing besides upgrading the gate security and shit.”

  Bob whistles lowly. “Wonder why Carl never set up a charter here before with a pad like this ready to go. Are there rooms? Do you all stay here?”

  “Right this way,” I say, motioning for them to follow. I stop at the second door on the left once we enter the hall. “This is where you’ll be sleeping. Stay as long as you want.” I push it open and step back for them to enter. “I’m really fucking glad you’re here.”

  “Shit,” Bob says, walking in and spinning back to face me. “We might never leave.”

  “Works for me.” I tilt my head toward the front. �
�Get settled and we’ll burn one in the other room when you’re ready.”

  I pull the door closed behind me and leave them to do whatever it is old people do, while I get back to the crate. Tank and Justice are already cataloging the weapons when I return, while Wyndall’s rolling a blunt and Mad Dog is separating the ammo. We’ve been chill the past six weeks, knowing the Wolves are expecting us, but it’s been enough time for their guard to start slipping, and that’s when we’ll plow the motherfuckers down.

  By the time Bob and Marianne make it back out to the main room, the weapons have been accounted for and stashed in the armory, which is behind a fake wall in the coat closet. Wyndall has the doobie rolled and ready, and we’re just shooting the shit as we wait.

  “Fire it up,” Bob calls, picking up a pool cue. “Come on, Enzo. I bet nobody’s whooped your ass since you been in this Podunk town.”

  I smirk, standing and lighting the blunt. “Game on, old man.” I strut to the back half of the room. “Anyone who’s gonna hit this better follow.”

  “I gotta see this anyway,” Mad Dog says, bringing his big jolly ass over. “Don’t let me down, Bob. This cocky motherfucker needs to be taken down a peg.”

  Bob shrugs. “I intend to kick his ass, but be thankful you have a motherfucker like Enzo leading you. Without him, you’d probably all die in this war.”

  I pass the joint to Bob and select my own cue. “Damn straight.” I glare at Mad Dog. “You realize with the nomads and Bob and Marianne around, I don’t need your fucking ass. If you doubt me, you can fuck off.”

  “I don’t doubt you,” Mad Dog says, his beard twitching as he swallows down his jealousy. “I just wish you weren’t such a cocky asshole.”

  “Boo fucking hoo.” I line up the white ball and smack the hell out of it with my cue, sending three balls rolling into differing pockets. “I can back up my fucking talk. The question is, can you?” I step closer, towering over his beer-bellied ass. “I’ve yet to see much out of you, and until I do, I’m not ready to give you props.” I jab a finger at him. “Earn it, and maybe I won’t be such a cocky fucking dick.”